Red Weather
by suncityblues
Summary: The day he noticed the slight, barely visible protrusion of his stomach was the same day he took to systematically shattering every mirror and reflective surface he could get his hands on. These things were not unrelated. Reposting from the kink meme.
1. Chapter 1

The whole thing takes things from the movie, the comics, the myths, and shit I make up but it is mostly based out of comic-verse, where Loki still has green eyes as a Jötunn and Thor knows they're not blood-related. Let me know if you see anything wrong/inaccurate though.

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The day he noticed the slight, barely visible protrusion of his stomach was the same day he took to systematically shattering every mirror and reflective surface he could get his hands on.

These things were not unrelated.

The whole problem, if he should call it that, had begun not so long ago, and for a time he had convinced himself what he was feeling was merely the result of a passing illness, rare as they were amongst Æser. Brought on, perhaps, by overexertion or improper eating habits, both of which he was guilty of, until finally he gave way to the nagging curiosity that in turn gave way to the use of magic to divine the source of his discomfort.

And even then, even after five, six, twenty-nine spells all telling him the same thing, he still could not handle the sight of his own shame as it grew inside him.

For he was with child.  
His step-brother's child, to be exact.

The very thought of it made him want to vomit and he was tempted to do so if he hadn't already thrown up earlier that morning.

It felt as though the entire world was crashing in on top of him and holding him there; squeezing his life out of him. His lives.  
And there was panic and horror and shame and misery, absolute and unending as it welled up inside him.  
Because everything was wrong, this whole thing was wrong.

Boys didn't get pregnant.

At least Æser boys didn't get pregnant. But he was not an Æser, was he.  
He'd never known another Jötunn in all his time in Asgard, never learned about them outside mentions of war. There were no books on them in the libraries (though Loki would have made a point not to read them even if there were) and he could scarcely bring himself to remember a childhood spent standing all alone in the snow, building up great mounds of it to pass the hours by, until he had to return to his home and make himself as small as possible.

At these thoughts Loki felt a stab of betrayal, at what or whom he wasn't sure, it was too vague, too large to see properly, but it was a feeling he was used to, the directionless anger of someone much too old to be so young.

So he smashed his mirrors.

Kicked and punched the walls and maybe cried just a little, until he no longer had the energy to continue, and simply sunk to the floor in a heap.

Because someone must have known.  
Someone must have known and no one told him.  
Someone must have known and no one told him and they let this happen to him; they were punishing him not for what he had done, not for his pranks or lies, but simply for who he was.

It hurt much worse this way. He knew it would.

And what would Odin say when-if-when he finds out his second son had become impregnated by the seed of his first, most beloved son?

He could feel the disappointment radiating off the All Father already. Hear the shouts ringing in his ears. The unspoken askance of why these things, these monumental embarrassments, always seem to happen to his youngest son.

Loki, always fucking things up. Like clockwork.

And Thor, he could see Thor standing next to him, shaking in anger and confusion. What would Thor think?  
Maybe he'd be ecstatic, or furious, possibly both, possibly neither.  
He would want to keep it, either way, idiot that he was. Would want to name it and love it, sing it to sleep in his arms; try to teach it how to fight before it could even lift a sword.

And all of a sudden there was this strange constricting lump in Loki's throat and he found he couldn't think about these things anymore for fear of blubbering.

That is how Thor found him a while later, laying on his floor half-naked and bleeding from where the glass shards imbedded themselves in his skin. His face was red and blotchy and he was staring abjectly at the ceiling, the only indication he noticed his brother enter the room was a little huff of breath.

Thor let out a low whistle surveying the damage. "Brother, your tantrums are as legendary as they are numerous, but in this one you have truly outdone yourself..."

Loki could hear the sunshine in his brother's voice and in retaliation enchanted a bit of granite he sometimes used as a paperweight to whiz at the other's head.

Thor caught the rock with the ease of someone who was used to having projectiles magically launch themselves at him as he walked over to Loki's current position, hauled him up by the elbow until he was standing, and instructed him to heal his own cuts with magic, which Loki begrudgingly complied with.

Thor watched this for a moment, transfixed by magic that was forever a mystery to him before leaving to go dig around the bureau for a tunic, selecting the single red piece in the entire wardrobe, a gift from someone, probably Thor himself, and throwing it at the slighter prince.

"Come dress yourself now, mother has heard of your... distress, and sent me to collect you to break fast with her so that you may air your grievances in front of beings that can defend themselves, and so the servants may clean this mess."

Loki made a noncommittal sound in his throat as he alternated between surveying the offending garment and shooting Thor icy glares. "And you expect me to wear this?" he said with as much venom as he could muster while at the same time putting it on. He was famished after all.

Thor just snorted and murmured, "I think red suits you" like it was part of some private joke Loki was not privy to while moving in a bit too close to be considered friendly, a clear move to kiss. It was bold on Thor's part and they both knew it, not just to kiss him somewhere they might be seen when their relationship was not something to be shown or proud of, at least as far as Loki was concerned, but also because there was a fair chance he would be rebuffed in a painful or at least embarrassing way if Loki was indeed in as bad a mood as the wreckage would suggest.

But this time the younger prince allowed it, miserable as he was, he let the kiss happen, deepened it even, when his mind was screaming to punch Thor in his big fat face for doing this to him. For putting that thing inside him.

But Loki couldn't. Didn't want to. The last thing he wanted was for Thor to find out. It would be a disaster.

It would make it real.

And Loki, smart as he was, logical and realistic, could not stop himself from indulging this delusion, the hope that things would work themselves out, or time would unravel itself, or this would all be a dream, anything to prove that this wasn't really happening, because he was afraid. He was not brave, not in the same way Thor was, not able to stand and challenge something he wasn't sure he could defeat. And this, not the child so much as the shame of it, the dismay Frigga will do her best to conceal when she finds her grandchild to be a monster, or worse, a Jötunn, the talk of the court, of the entire realm, whispering that this was his plan all along. Enchant the Odinson, put the seed of Jötunheimr on the throne, take over Asgard from within. It would be the very living proof that Loki could never truly fit in, always different, untrustworthy, the seiðmaðr, never be able to escape his past.

Always Loki Laufeyjarson and never Loki Odinson.

That is what he could not defeat.

So he let Thor kiss him until they were panting and red in the face, until their hands had somehow found their ways onto each other's bodies; under the hems of their shirts. Loki could feel the lust rolling off of his adoptive brother, could feel it pressing into his thigh, and he couldn't blame the other man, it had been at least two weeks since he'd last allowed himself to be touched by anyone out of a completely irrational fear that somehow they would find out his secret.

Thor hummed into the air between their mouths, and mumbled, ever the honest one, "I was worried... that maybe you had found someone else or..."

Loki snorted, leave it to Thor to blurt out his feelings, he thought derisively, and with a smug grin chirped, "maybe I have" before disentangling himself and traipsing out the door.

The gaping look on Thor's face did wonders for his mood.

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This is also on the kinkmeme + AO3 (my name there is Pigeons)


	2. Chapter 2

Breakfast was an uncomfortable affair at best.

Loki had been expecting Frigga, after all she was the one who had called him down in the first place, but Odin was a different story altogether.

Thor, naturally, seemed pleased that the whole family was together, just the four of them, remarking how rare it was when they first sat down. Loki just alternated between trying to make it look like he wasn't eating as much as he was and wishing everyone would stop looking at him.

It made Loki feel like they knew, which was ridiculous considering the lack of screaming and violence.

All rationality aside, when Frigga casually asked him what the commotion was this morning Loki resisted the urge to flee and spun some tale about how he was frustrated with a particular spell. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't anywhere close to the truth either.

Frigga just made a faint humming sound, with felt placating to Loki's ears, casually saying how she was glad he seemed in a better mood now, though he knew enough not to think she was worried about him. She had known he was feeling ill for some time now, and been perturbed by his insistence on not seeing any healers even before he knew what exactly was affecting him.

Odin for his part spoke to Thor of his training and Loki of his studies and listened with equal measure while each of them rattled off the things things they'd learned or were learning. He nodded at each of them and complimented their tutors and it was surprisingly easy for Loki to get lost in the attempt to make the All-Father proud of him, some sort of strange call back to when things, while not perfect were at least not on a crash corse, but even that was short lived, as his time with Odin's attention always seemed to be, when one of the advisors called attention to some matter of politics and the king quickly left the room, placing an apologetic hand on Frigga's shoulder as he went.

Thor too went off to the training grounds shortly after with a small private look to Loki who could not bring himself return it despite the pout that came across his brother's face.

Loki considered it time to return to his rooms as well after watching the last glimpse of red cape disappear into the hall. Though to do what he was unsure, maybe look up the ingredients for a brew he had read about about that could terminate a pregnancy, even if his mind already made itself up that he would not use it. Not because he held any love for the tiny wad of misery and stress worming its way through his gut but because he could not bring himself to remove the thing that would tie him to Thor, the verification that what they had was not the drunken or lust-driven fumbling of two stupid boys or a game to be forgotten and avoided in later times but something... he wasn't sure. Something important- and it was important. To Loki, it was his most cherished thing, though he'd never tell anyone, least of all Thor.  
Or maybe he would just stand alone and shirtless as he had earlier and stare dejectedly downwards but either way he made his mind up to remove himself from the table.

However as he made to get up and make his leave Frigga held up one elegant hand and he knew better than to go anywhere.

She moved closer to her son, lay a hand on his arm and began with no preamble, "tell me, my little one, now that we're alone, who is it you have gotten pregnant...?"

This was roughly the moment where Loki's mind collapsed in on itself.

Part of him wanted desperately to cry, cry like a baby and tell his mother, the woman who raised and cared for him, everything. That there was no girl, or that the girl was him, he wasn't really sure. Tell her about him and Thor, how they would fuck every chance they got, how neither of them even thought it was possible for something like this to happen. How he was sorry, so sorry, for what, he wasn't sure, for anything and everything, and that he felt so terrified and so alone, more than he'd ever felt before. He wanted to tell her that he just wanted his mother to hold him like she did when he was little and had a nightmare and let him pretend everything would be okay.

But he did none of these things.

The words were there but they got caught in his throat.  
Because telling the truth is hard.

Especially so for the lie-smith.

Instead Loki just stammered and felt the blood drain from his face, and listened as his mother told him how surprised she was when she went to the palace library found several of the books on pregnancy had relocated themselves to his room; before chiding him for looking to texts instead of consulting his own mother.

There was something in the air between them, like Frigga is disappointed in him less for his action and more for not telling her.

When he still did not say anything, partially because he was afraid he would throw up if he opened his mouth and partially because there were too many things floating around in his mind, excuses and lies and completely unrelated things like how dare the sun come out at a time like this, she merely sighed and kissed his forehead, gripped his arm with a surprising strength, before telling him that no matter who it was, they would be cared for; that there was no need for him to worry.

With every passing second it was getting harder and harder for Loki to remain calm, to keep his expression of nonchalance from slipping though he knew Frigga could always see through it anyway.

Out of mercy, he suspected, Frigga left him shortly after their conversation ended, without a word spoken by Loki, possibly a first in his entire life, and never before had he been more tempted to just melt into the floor and live out the rest of his life as a puddle or something.

He didn't even want to cry or scream or break things anymore. He was just tired and alone and it was hard to think clearly about one issue let alone all of them. He should have told Frigga. Why hadn't he told Frigga? He felt stupid and mad at himself, his pride. She knew, sort of, knew something anyway and a good bet was that Odin did too.

He just wanted to stop being. It was too much and the feeling crept into his bones and settled there and refused to dislodge itself.

So he resolved to leave.

For their sake, for his sake, for the sake of the baby.  
The words were still hard to think. Baby.

It would not be hard to sneak from his home, he had done it many times before, and odd as it was this felt no different, though he knew it should. He had no intention of returning but it was as though he had lost the ability to feel the guilt and remorse he fully expected. It would feel like a pleasant ride into the mountains, typical and mundane, only he would not stop at their edge, or even their end, he would not stop until he found a crack in the universe he could slip through to parts unknown.

He waited through a week of avoiding everyone who came by his rooms which, to be fair, were only Thor and Frigga. He packed lightly, just some clothes and money, a few days worth of provisions, a cherished journal he used for spells his mother had given him shortly after he first arrived in Asgard and showed an ability for magic, a blanket, a small trinket he had nicked from Thor's rooms, something to give the child a memento of a father it would never know if Loki had anything to say about.

And that was it.

He knew he wasn't acting with logic and it bit at him so, he knew this would end badly. He could get caught and dragged back, it had happened before, he could only hide for so long before Thor and his warriors or soldiers or Odin himself, depending on what he had done, would come marching into whatever miserable cave he had made his temporary home in and drag him back to Asgard.

But he knew he could not stay and he knew there were ways to make himself less than visible.

So he would do his best to obscure himself from Heimdall's sight and Odin's when he is upon Hliðskjálf and go to the dead land of Vanaheimr, with its endless black sea coasts and fjords, and there amongst them he would bare this child or die with it, and soon after they would leave. Perhaps to Midgard, the strange godless place where hiding was easy, or Ālfheimr, the unspeakably lovely land of the light elves. He would hide and hope for the best. This was his plan and it did not escape him how weak it was.

But he could think of no other way, surely he would not be accepted for this, he could not be, not ever.

And maybe he was not meant to be accepted. He was not meant to be like the Jötunn, though he was born amongst them, he was not meant to be like the Æser though in many ways he resembled them more than his own people. He certainly was not a dwarf or a human or an elf. He was just Loki, some sort of cosmic joke of fate or unlucky circumstance, and maybe Loki was not meant to be anywhere at all.

If he couldn't expect them to take to such a child, a child which was half ice, half enemy, then he, full enemy, would go everywhere if there was nowhere to go.

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Thank you for reading, I totally hate this chapter but I wanted to say that I'm really overwhelmed and amazed by how many hits/kudos/so on I've received in only a few days so hopefully I'll make up for it with the coming chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry I've been so late. I'll be finishing this story up soon.

It takes a little over two months to locate Loki.  
While his magic is strong, he's still young yet and it is almost impossible to hide from all-seeing eyes even for the most talented of seiðkona.

And, more importantly, no matter how valiant his efforts were, his ability to hide is nothing compared to the avidity with which Frigga presses her husband to get her son back.

It always plays out the same.  
What gives Loki away is the first snowfall.

Vanaheimr is a strange dead land, full of black water and wild magic, and its weather is prone to even the slightest shifts of temperament, which Loki had expected in theory but not in practice. He had run to Vanaheimr once before where, unlike Asgard, the practice of magic was widespread and easily felt before its destruction, but he had never stayed at this time of year and for so long.

But despite the weather, it was good there, the Vanir were so much reduced and their lands had grown beautiful and lonely and dense, and finding solitude was as easy as walking in any direction.

So he stayed in his cave by the sea. He knew that with the baby it would be too taxing to move around much, for even when the first waves of illness were over, bone-deep exhaustion took its place. By hiding he could not light fires without fear of being seen or hunt any large game, pregnancy not withstanding, without possibility of the blood smell being picked up by Odin's wolves, Geri and Freki. So he stuck to small game, rabbits, the occasional fish, eating the meat raw and keeping the bones for spiritual protection.

For two months he lives like this, constantly wary, exhausted, and unhappy, and it is not a rare thought for him to return to Asgard and beg Frigga to keep his secret. He is furious with himself for being so afraid of letting his family down that he would rather live in a cave in a foreign land than face repercussions, but it is hard and wrong and what if they take the child away from him?

He wouldn't be able to live with that.

And maybe it's lack of sleep or lack of real food or the constant fear of being found that starts to affect him but the more he thinks about it the more awful the possibilities become. If he stays where he is he could die, the baby could die, he has no idea how to have a baby, no idea what to do with the things happening of their own accord in his body, the feeling of his hips expanding and how much that _hurts_, but if he goes home, there too lie nothing but problems.

So he bides his time and tries to think and lets the routine of invisibly checking traps and sleeping and trekking to get water dominate his life and he feels simple and stupid and heavy until one day it starts to snow.

It snows for three days straight, and when, after it stops, Loki ventures out of his cave as he did everyday to search the traps, he sees his mistake.

Or rather, he sees the pair of crows waiting in the barren fruit tree opposite where he stands.

Huginn and Muninn.  
Thought and Memory.

They caw and Loki knows he's losing it because he suspects they might be making fun of him.

Before he can think to look around for a rock to throw at them in some sort of childish show of defiance they fly off, evidently having seen what they came to see and Loki is oddly relieved and drained at the same time when he sees the half footprint he had forgotten to obscure or perhaps left on purpose the day before.

Playing hide-and-seek with omnipotent beings is never successful.

That night he eats his food cooked over a fire for the first time in ages and feels strangely solid, waiting for the inevitable sounds of footsteps. He does not attempt to hide his stomach which has grown to be irrefutable in size, beyond a loose unwashed cloak; he is too tired to pretend he can do much besides ache at this point. Let them see. Let them laugh. He is tired.

When the footsteps do come, he realizes too late that there is only one person crunching almost silently through the snow. He knows those footsteps, even now he knows them.

Thor.

He had not been expecting Thor. His father, perhaps, or members of the Einherjar, or even the Warriors Three, but not Thor. Thor was the one he had least wanted to see, least wanted to think about. It makes him uncomfortable, gives him some sort of strange feeling of pressure in his chest that he hates.

Blond hair and blue eyes and strong tanned skin warmed by the light of fire appear in Loki's eyes suddenly and it's like looking into the sun; it's beautiful and it hurts so much.

Neither of them smile.

Loki supposes it would be ridiculous to assume his brother would be his normal cheery self and he is glad. If Thor had smiled it would be the end of him.

For a long time Thor stands at the entrance to the cave and Loki pretends to sit listlessly picking at a flayed bit of fish as though he were still by himself until finally his brother says humorlessly, "You look like death, little brother."

Loki laughs anyway, a rough barking sound so unlike his usual chiming laughter that his brother winces. Loki takes pleasure in his brother's expression, it makes it easier not to fling himself into those arms this way.

It had been a long while since he'd spoken to anyone besides himself, but he pulls as much sarcasm as he can into his tone and says, "Good to see you too," as he moves to stand slowly, suddenly self-conscious of the bulge in his stomach so unlike his earlier bravado but already aware that Thor's eyes, keen from hunting, have already seen it and his theory is correct judging by the look on Thor's face.

Everything, all his fear and misery all come down to this point, and there's no use hiding it this time, it's not just a little bump but now it's a fully grown life decision and he feels like everything is laid out naked in front of Thor and he feels _weak_.

And when he feels weak he reacts like he always reacts, by building a wall of cavalier words and flippancy, when he says, "Oh, didn't you know? I'm pregnant now, congratulations, me."

Thor looks gobsmacked and floundering. He looks like he's searching Loki's face for a lie or a trick or anything at all and not finding it.

"But you're a bo-" he starts only to be cut off when Loki finishes for him in a deceptively light tone, "A Jötunn, Thor. I'm a Jötunn."

Thor looks like he's about to ask another question but Loki's teeth are big and sharp making up a smile that is all bite and says do-not-fuck-with-me-not-right-now.

There is quiet again.

Loki can see the wheels turning in his brother's head, can read hope in the unguarded expression and hates it. Hates that Thor gets to be happy, even if he wants Thor to be happy more than anything.

His brother opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, and Loki knows what he's going to ask, and knows what he's going to say, and wants it either over with or never happening in the first place, either one is fine with him but this tense gaping thing is not sitting well.

Thor has moved from the opening of the cave now, to where Loki sits and is touching him slightly, with a kind of strange nervous energy that just grates on Loki's already frayed nerves.

He missed being touched just not like this.

"Is it... I mean, Loki..." the words seem stuck in Thor's throat and by then Loki is at the end of his patience and bordering on hysterical because this is not how things were supposed to happen, and so does what comes naturally.

He lies.

"No," the words are sharp and pointed in their finality. "No, the baby's not your's, brother, you think you were the only one I was fucking? Don't be ridiculous, you should have seen the-" he's building himself farther and farther up, getting more vicious and wordy and creative but Thor cuts him off by roughly grabbing his face. It hurts and it feels good.

This, this is how he wants to be touched.

"Stop. Stop" the words are angry and bitter and Loki feels the stab of well done while his brother continues, "We're going home."


End file.
